


To Each His Own

by gaudy_night



Series: Jim Gordon's Life As a Series of Clichés [2]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-17
Updated: 2009-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-29 02:53:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30149649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaudy_night/pseuds/gaudy_night
Summary: Someone wanted to know how that first official unofficial date went.
Relationships: Jim Gordon/Bruce Wayne
Series: Jim Gordon's Life As a Series of Clichés [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2219031
Kudos: 8





	To Each His Own

Bruce Wayne watched, utterly transfixed by the man sitting across the table from him.

_The Jim Gordon Show._

He watched as Gordon held the delicate fork in his pale fingers… _mmm, look at those elegant hands_ … _long and strong_ … much like Wayne imagined the rest of him would be. Wayne couldn’t tear his eyes away as Gordon lifted the fork of tiramisu and liquor-infused Lady Fingers to his mouth. The older man’s mouth closed over the fork, and Wayne felt himself instantly harden in response. He shook his head clear and crossed his legs. He cleared his throat and picked up the glass of water in front of him to disguise his drooling mouth.

At that moment, Gordon looked up at him, a relaxed smile on his usually tired features. “This is very good.”

Wayne nodded slowly as if in a trance. _So good…_ He let his gaze settle over the commissioner’s features. The light crinkles that formed around his eyes whenever he smiled. The slightly crooked smile, shy and self-deprecating. The way his eyebrows rose in bewilderment above the rims of his glasses. Wayne memorized it all. _Oh, the things I could do to him right now… things that would make those eyebrows stay up for hours…_

He watched as Gordon looked all around the restaurant, trying to find something else to say. Their silence must have grown awkward for the older man, but Wayne was enjoying it just fine. The other man started to fidget. His hand automatically reached for his tie, and his nimble fingers loosened the knot. He opened the top button of his shirt as well. Wayne followed the commissioner’s every move. _Long and strong… and so flexible, too…_

 _The Jim Gordon Show_.

Yes, Wayne was liking the silence just fine.

* * *

Jim Gordon cleared his throat. He could feel Bruce Wayne watching him as he loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. He shot a glance across the table. The younger man now wore an expression mixed with equal parts approval and… something else. Gordon could only hope it wasn’t _disapproval_. The upscale restaurant was exactly the sort of place a man like Bruce Wayne frequented, and Gordon hoped he wasn’t breaking any unspoken rules of etiquette by making himself more comfortable.

The evening had turned out almost exactly how Gordon had pictured it would be during the limousine ride there. Awkward silences followed by brief spurts of easy conversation. How else could it have turned out? Gotham’s own billionaire playboy and their straitlaced police commissioner. It wasn’t as if the two men had anything even remotely in common, but Gordon was surprised to discover the evening had turned out to be far from unpleasant. That is, aside from a couple of strange glances Wayne kept directing his way.

 _The tie. It’s got to be the tie_. He reached up and fixed his shirt and tie. _There. All better now_. But Wayne was now looking at him with great amusement. _Oh, what the hell_. Gordon just shrugged. He picked the dessert fork back up and finished the rest of his dessert.

From the moment they met backstage after the auction to the moment the limousine pulled up in front of the restaurant, Gordon still felt a little shocked at the fact that Bruce Wayne was turning out to be a most amiable companion. He had immediately felt at ease in the younger man’s presence, and to his amazement, he found he didn’t have to force himself to enjoy this impromptu meeting. He mentally scratched his head. _Meeting? Is that the right word for this?_ He tried not to think too much about that. Anyway, the tiramisu _was_ very good…

* * *

“Just dessert,” Wayne had promised as he stood outside the limousine, waiting for Gordon to follow him. “Then I’ll get you into bed. I mean, home.” _I wonder what he looks like in his pajamas… out of his pajamas… oh, shit… control yourself, Wayne._

Gordon had awkwardly exited the vehicle. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in a limousine. “Okay, Mr. Wayne.” _What did I get myself into?_

“ _Bruce_ ,” Wayne had immediately corrected him. _You’ll get used to screaming it out soon enough—oh, shit. Knock it off, Wayne! Goddammit!_

“Bruce,” Gordon had repeated as if to reinforce it in his own mind. But really, it was all too bizarre. On a first-name basis with Bruce Wayne? Gordon was never the type to be impressed with the notion of celebrity— _Barbara loves that stuff_ , his conscience had reminded him and he flinched inadvertently—but after having served a decade and a half with Gotham’s Finest, he had discovered very little to celebrate about the lifestyles of the rich and famous.

 _But this is Bruce Wayne_ , his conscience had insisted. _Bruce Wayne just invited you to join him for dessert, for Christ’s sake! Make an effort, you idiot!_

In the cool night air, Wayne had looked at him expectantly, and Gordon dutifully followed him into the restaurant. The maître d’ had immediately seated them, and Gordon felt he had just entered a different world. He looked down in askance at the array of multiple plates, silverware, and glasses in front of him. Barbara had tried to teach him formal dinner etiquette a long time ago, and now he wished he’d paid attention. _Salad fork? Dessert fork?_ He glanced up at Wayne, er, _Bruce_ , trying not to reveal his anxiety. _This is completely out of my league._

But Wayne was also looking down at the setting in front of them with a frown. He gestured to a passing waiter. “The commissioner and I are here only for dessert.” To Gordon’s amazement, the waiter apologized profusely and removed the offending items, leaving only a single dessert fork in front of either man. He poured each man a large glass of water as well. He stood there waiting for further instructions from Wayne. Wayne placed their order and thanked the young man. Within seconds, dessert had arrived, and then they were left alone.

 _Whoa,_ Gordon had thought, putting his napkin on his lap and unfolding it. He knew to do that much at least. _If only the wheels of bureaucracy moved as quickly…_ He had picked up the fork and took his first bite. He had smiled in appreciation. “This is very good.”

And Wayne had just silently nodded in agreement, an unreadable look in his dark eyes.

* * *

The silence lingered on at their table. It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly. Just… silent. Gordon’s hands itched to loosen his tie again, but he held them off.

Gordon suddenly felt he wanted to be considered good company for the evening. He already knew any efforts on his part to be, er, scintillating would come across as inept instead, but he was going to try anyway. His words about the weather and the restaurant came out frustratingly hesitant and uncertain. They came out haltingly.

Wayne just smiled, the amusement growing in his eyes at Gordon’s valiant efforts to be entertaining.

Gordon looked around the restaurant once more for a conversation starter. Instead of admiring the scenery, he found himself watching for suspicious behavior. _Turn it off, Jimbo_ , his conscience intoned. _All work and no play make Jimbo a dull boy_.

 _True, but ‘all work and no play’ also give ‘Jimbo’ something to do besides mope around at home_ , Gordon responded ruefully. But he did turn off the police scanner in his head. He turned to Wayne once more.

“So, um, what did you think about the fundraiser tonight?” asked Gordon hopefully.

Wayne just shrugged.

Gordon answered his own question, “Well, I thought it was an, uh, admirable effort on their part to raise funds for the youth center.” Still nothing from Wayne. Gordon went on. “Um, the center tries to do what it can for the kids. They have several programs for, er, the k-kids.” He came to a stuttering stop.

Wayne just leaned back in his hair, one arm draped over the back of the chair and the other lying lazily on the table. A secretive smile played on his lips.

Gordon groaned internally. Wayne thought he was _amusing_. _Well, that’s just great_ , he thought sarcastically. He then realized the billionaire had barely said a single word during dessert. He had just watched Gordon the entire time as the older man tried to pass himself off as a charming dinner companion. _Damn it!_

“So, um…” Gordon had already talked about everything he could think of. What he’d feared the entire evening was finally here. Wayne probably thought he was dreadfully boring. _Probably wished he’d dropped me off the precinct instead._

But Wayne’s eyes were positively twinkling now. “So.”

Gordon looked around. “It’s getting very late. Looks like everyone is nearly gone. Do you think we should go now? It looks like they’re going to close soon. I don’t want to put off anyone…” Gordon shut his mouth to stop himself. _Blah, blah, blah_ , he chided himself. _There you go again. Damn you, Jimbo. This is not your evening, is it?_ But it _was_ getting late…

Gordon looked around and saw the full restaurant staff busy at work around them, but Wayne just gave an elegant shrug.

“I don’t think anyone will mind if we stay a little longer.”

Gordon gave him a questioning look. “Why not?”

“I own the place,” the billionaire simply replied.

“Oh.” It seemed to be the appropriate response. Gordon had nearly forgotten who Bruce Wayne was. _Thank you for the reminder,_ he thought dryly. He fell silent, his hands fiddling with the napkin still in his lap.

Wayne watched him for a moment. He felt a powerful urge to see even more of this man, but… it _was_ getting late. Gordon was starting to get more nervous, and that would not do at all. Finally, Wayne spoke, “Shall we go?”

Gordon gratefully nodded, and they stood up from the table and left the restaurant.

* * *

Bruce Wayne groaned internally. What he’d feared the entire evening was finally here—the limousine ride to Gordon’s house. In the darkness, it was just the two of them in the private compartment. Sheer torture for a man who’d been mentally undressing his dinner companion all evening and proceeded to have his way with him—if only in the confines of his Gordon-obsessed mind, that is. It was getting harder and harder— _pick a better word, Wayne_ —ah, more _difficult_ to stay on his side of the seat.

His conscience joked, _No pain, no gain, eh, Wayne?_

Wayne flinched. At the mention of pain, his mind was immediately infused with images of Jim Gordon beneath him on the vehicle’s floor, collecting carpet burns on his knees and forearms as Wayne pounded away into his ever-so-pliant body from behind—

Wayne shoved his fist in his mouth and bit down hard. Gordon looked over and gave him a strange look.

“Are you okay, Mr. Wayne? Er, Bruce?”

Wayne quickly nodded, not wanting to alarm Gordon. _Shit!_

 _Now_ that _was really subtle,_ his conscience ridiculed him _. Way to go, Wayne._

Gordon was speaking to him, and he had to focus to listen to what the man was saying to him. “…had a nice evening. Thank you, er, Bruce.”

Wayne found his voice. “You’re very welcome, Jim.”

Gordon smiled and added, if only to be polite, “We should do it again sometime.”

 _Yes! Let’s do it. Right now! Right here! Aw, fuck._ Wayne nodded slowly. His voice came out strained and strangled. “Yes, we should. Most definitely. God, yes.”

But Gordon was looking at him apprehensively once more, and Wayne cursed his raging libido.

Wayne found himself grasping at straws. “So, what kind of programs does the youth center offer?”

Gordon looked at him strangely, but he responded nonetheless. “I think they offer computer access, health education, basic financial education, youth leadership training…”

Wayne nodded as Gordon gave an impressive list of programs and services the youth center provided. _Ten thousand dollars well spent_ , Wayne mused, and then he found his eyes roving over Gordon’s body once more. _In more ways than one_. He licked his lips in explicit approval.

Gordon stopped abruptly. “Bruce, are you okay?”

_Shit!_

No, this would definitely _not_ do at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 01/17/2009 on LiveJournal and possibly FanFiction.Net.
> 
> Cliché #20 in Jim Gordon’s Life As a Series of Clichés.


End file.
